


if i warned you that the fire's gonna burn

by softeldritch



Series: like lovers do [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Organized Crime, Angst, Blood and Violence, M/M, POV Alternating, Winnipeg Jets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-02 14:36:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20277499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softeldritch/pseuds/softeldritch
Summary: He knows, whatever’s going on between him and Patrik—it’s not lasting beyond this hit. Patrik won’t want anything to do with him. Might even try to kill him, if he’s pissed enough.And that’s—that’s fine. Nikolaj knew it was coming anyway. He’s an Ehlers, Patrik’s the heir to the Finn’s empire. They weren’t gonna make it past a year. This thing between them was always gonna end violent and bloody.





	if i warned you that the fire's gonna burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThoseDaysThatWill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoseDaysThatWill/gifts).

> lily wanted more of this, i asked for suggestions, and she gave me this _wonderful_ prompt:
> 
> **So what if Nikolaj is given a job (to prove himself) to take out a Finn (because rumors of him being seen with one, have to prove that's false)... perhaps someone close to Patrik?**
> 
> **(ETA: or ANYTHING Ben and Sami because you writing them makes me kinda scream a lot.)**
> 
> so, here’s that!
> 
> (title from _in the name of love_ by martin garrix and bebe rexha)

Nothing good ever comes of walking into a room where both Sebastian _and_ the boss are waiting. Nikolaj glances between the two of them both leaning against the old wooden desk and the plush leather chair in front of them, pausing a second before sitting down and crossing one leg over the other. The weight of their stares makes him feel like he’s shrinking inside his skin, but he holds his chin high, waiting for one of them to say something. Not like this is the first time he’s been called in to get yelled at for doing something stupid.

For a long second they’re both silent, watching him. A pretty classic intimidation tactic. One Nikolaj’s not really used to getting from his family. He just stares back, fighting the urge to cross his arms and jut out his jaw like he’s a child getting scolded.

“So,” Sebastian begins, low and easy. “We’ve heard a few rumours.”

Oh, fuck. Okay. Nikolaj keeps his face carefully blank. “What kind of rumours?”

Sebastian’s eyes narrow. Yeah, he can see through Nikolaj immediately. Always has. “Rumours about you spending some time with one of the Finns.” He crosses his arms, shifting his weight where he’s resting his hip against Dad’s desk. “Rumours that are starting to _spread_, Nik.”

A little bit of tension bleeds out of the pit of anxiety in Nikolaj’s gut. They don’t know _which_ Finn. If they did, there’d be a much different reaction.

He narrows his eyes, tipping his head up to look at Sebastian more squarely. “Who’s saying it?”

“That’s the thing,” Sebastian says, “we don’t know where the rumour started, because it’s been spreading so fast.” He cocks his head to the side, staring so hard Nikolaj feels it boring under his skin. “It’s not something we can solve by taking out the whistleblower.”

Suddenly, Nikolaj realizes he hasn’t actually denied it. “I’m not spending time with any Finns,” he says, changing his inflection so it sounds almost like an afterthought, shrugging like it’s so ridiculous it’s barely worth denying. “I mean. That’s pretty obvious.”

Sebastian raises a brow. “Is it?”

Dread crawls up Nikolaj’s spine. Fuck, what exactly do they know?

“You’ve been seen entering their territory.” Finally, Dad—Boss—both—has decided to join the conversation. Nikolaj’s eyes immediately flick to him. “By multiple people, multiple occasions. Whatever you’re doing over there, it wasn’t sanctioned by me.” There’s a hard edge to his tone, a threat in his eyes, and Nikolaj knows he’s fucked. “Do you know what that’s like, Nikolaj? When my men come to me and tell me they’ve seen you entering Finnish territory, and I don’t have an answer for them?” His hard stare doesn’t change, but Nikolaj squirms under it anyway. “It’s embarrassing. It speaks of dysfunction. How am I supposed to be a good leader if I can’t even control my own son?”

Nikolaj shrinks, guilt and fear and anxiety sharp in his chest and bitter on the back of his tongue. “Sorry,” he says, voice gravelly. “There’s—I’ve been seeing someone.” It’s not technically a lie, at least. And it’s believable; most of the trouble Nikolaj’s gotten himself into has been through trying to get laid. “That’s why I’m going over there.”

Dad‘s mouth twitches down. “End it,” he says simply. “If we’re going to try and salvage your reputation, we can’t have you digging this hole any deeper.”

Nikolaj nods. “Consider it done. Wasn’t really that serious, anyway.” Privately, he knows he’s not gonna end things with Patrik. He’s just sure what he _is_ gonna do. Be more discreet, somehow.

“That’s not all,” Sebastian says, because of course it isn’t. “This is spreading _everywhere_, Nik, it’s not that simple.”

He knows that tone. “What do you want from me?”

Dad leans forward, just a little. “A show of loyalty. So the boys know you aren’t having any errant thoughts about your allegiances.” His eyes are sharp, his expression weirdly contemplative, and with a sinking feeling Nikolaj realizes the boys aren’t the only ones who need convincing. Fuck. “You’re going to do a little job, prove that you’re still with us.” His words linger. “You _are_ still with us, Nikolaj?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Nikolaj finally gives into the urge to cross his arms, pressing tight on his chest like it’ll calm his heartbeat. “What do you need?”

“You’ll be taking care of someone important to the family,” Sebastian says, and Nikolaj’s heart skips a beat. If he’s taking someone important out—what if it’s Patrik? But—no, that’d be stupid. That’d be escalating into literal war. Going after a rival boss’ kid is one thing, but going after the next in line isn’t something you _do_. Not without consequences.

Still, he can’t shake the fear, ice-cold and gripping. Because if his dad asks him to kill Patrik . . . he’s not sure whether he could do it.

But he doesn’t let any of that show. Just nods. “Sure. Who’s the target?”

“Patrik Laine,” his dad says, and Nikolaj’s blood turns to ice until his dad keeps talking, “he has a shadow. Might as well be a member of the family at this point.” 

Okay. Nikolaj breathes, deep and even, not letting that brief second of panic show on his face. Killing Patrik’s bodyguard makes sense; he’s high-profile enough to be noticeable, but not actually important enough to start a war.

He’s . . . also Patrik’s best friend.

But Nikolaj’s loyal to his family.

“I’ll do it,” Nikolaj says with a shrug, like it wouldn’t mean anything to him to kill someone his kinda-boyfriend has known since he was a baby. “Do I need to bring anything back as proof?”

Sebastian’s lip curls, and Dad shakes his head. “No need,” Dad says. “Just make sure nobody can doubt it was you.”

Nikolaj’s chest tightens. He knows what _that_ means. No making this impersonal with a gun from a distance; Nikolaj’s known among their family for his handiwork with a knife. Usually he _likes_ getting up close to his targets, tricking them or seducing them or catching them off guard. There’s some kind of pride, killing someone with his hands.

Now, he just feels guilt, cold and heavy in the pit of his gut.

“Yes, Sir,” he says. 

Dad dismisses him, and Nikolaj walks out of the back room and back into the VIP section, dark and smoky and filled with guys carrying guns. His throat’s tight. He swallows, breathes in deep, coughs a bit at the cloud of cigar smoke. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He tugs it out to see a text from an unknown number, just a time and an address.

Fuck. _Patrik_.

Nikolaj’s instincts must be losing their edge, because suddenly he wants to _go_ to Patrik, tell him everything. Even though that’s what got him in this fucking mess in the first place. Even though Patrik’s the fucking _enemy_. They’re—they’re whatever they are, sure, but Nikolaj’s an Ehlers and Patrik’s a Laine. He can’t go running into Patrik’s arms like some kind of damsel looking for help.

He doesn’t. Instead, he texts back, _not tonight_.

Patrik doesn’t respond. Nikolaj’s not expecting him to, but he can’t help checking his phone for it anyway.

* * *

“You almost here?” Ben’s voice comes through the phone a bit muffled, and Sami wiggles his shoulder until it’s pressed against his ear more thoroughly.

“Two minutes?” Sami says, twisting his fingers around the plastic bags of takeout as he strides down the empty sidewalk. “You have terrible parking. Get a new apartment.”

Ben laughs, and the tension Sami’s been carrying for the past couple days bleeds out. “Sorry, sweetheart, I’ll start apartment hunting right away.” He hums through the phone and a shiver runs down Sami’s spine. “As long as you’re coming to live in my new apartment with me.”

Heat flushes up Sami’s cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears. “_Ben_,” he whispers. “You can’t—you can’t _say_ that!”

Another laugh, like honey down Sami’s spine. “Why not?”

“_Olet pahin_,” Sami mutters. Ben’s building finally comes into sight, and he breathes a sigh of relief. “One minute. I’ll hang up now.” He reaches up towards his phone, then stares at his hands, both curled around plastic bag handles. “Or, maybe you hang up? My hands are busy.”

“Not yet, they’re not,” Ben promises, a wicked lilt to his voice—and before Sami can react, there’s silence in his ear.

Not fair. Not fair at _all_.

It’s a welcome distraction, though, from the vague sense of unease Sami has been feeling for the last few days. He hasn’t mentioned it to Ben _or_ Patrik, because so far there isn’t much to mention, but . . . Well, Sami has been doing this for a very long time, has kept an eye out for danger in his periphery for years, and he’s almost certain that someone has been watching him. Not all the time, but enough that every time he leaves the house, that prickle starts up on the back of his neck.

He’s looked for evidence, for a trace of someone tailing him. So far he’s been unsuccessful. Sami isn’t sure whether that means there’s nothing to find, or if whoever is watching him is just _that_ good, but . . . either way, he doesn’t exactly like it.

He shakes those thoughts away as he’s pushing open the door to Ben’s lobby, hair falling loose around his jaw. It would be silly to ruin date night just because of weird wobbly _feelings_ he’s been getting in his stomach.

And besides, Ben gives him plenty of weird wobbly feelings too, and he’d much rather think about _those_.

It’s a bit tricky unlocking the door with both his hands full, but eventually Sami manages and heads into the elevator. The feeling of being watched has disappeared, at least. He realizes halfway up the elevator that he’s worrying his lower lip between his teeth; he stops, tongue poking out to soothe the soreness. 

Ben answers the door a second after Sami knocks, a soft smile already on his face. “Hey,” he says, ushering Sami inside. The second the door is locked behind them he steps into Sami’s space, curls big hands around his jaw and tilts his face up for a kiss. His hands are warm, his mouth soft, and Sami murmurs a tiny noise and melts into it. 

All too quickly Ben breaks the kiss, lingering so close Sami can feel his breath on his lips. It makes him shiver, and maybe whine a little, because he really would rather _keep_ kissing.

Ben chuckles, low and quiet. “We should eat,” he says softly, thumbs drawing circles on Sami’s cheekbones. “Before the food gets cold.”

Sami’s eyes flutter open, slow and heavy. He frowns. “I’m not hungry.” It comes out a lot more breathlessly than he meant it to.

“You can’t neglect eating just because you want to keep kissing me,” Ben teases. He steps back, all his warmth going with him. Then he reaches down, fingertips trailing over Sami’s knuckles before he twists his hands in the takeout bags and gently pries them out of Sami’s grip. “C’mon, dinner first, _then_ we can put on a movie and pretend to watch it.”

Flushing, Sami follows Ben into the kitchen. “We watch!”

They make easy conversation over dinner; Ben shares ridiculous stories of his patrons, and Sami gives an abbreviated version of the business he’s gotten up to with Patrik. It should be fun and relaxing, but the vague, whispery feeling of unease keeps drifting back like a fog, and Sami’s having trouble keeping it off his mind.

Ben notices, because of course he does. Picking up on the subtleties of his mark’s emotions is his specialty, and Sami may not be his mark but he’s also anything but subtle. “Sweetheart,” he says, interrupting his own story, tone dropping into concern. His hand finds Sami’s on the dinner table, folding over Sami’s fingers to stop his fiddling with his chopsticks. “You okay? You look distracted.”

Well, Sami is officially the worst boyfriend. “_Olen pahoillani_,” he says sullenly, tucking his hair behind his ears. “It’s nothing.”

Ben’s fingers trail over his cheek, and Sami’s breath catches. “It doesn’t seem like nothing,” Ben says softly, tugging Sami’s hair out from behind one ear, twirling it around his finger. “What’s wrong?”

It seems so _silly_ now. He doesn’t even have any proof, just instinct and feelings. So Sami shrugs, leaning into Ben’s hand, eyes slipping shut when Ben cups his jaw and starts massaging the base of his neck. “Really, it’s nothing,” he murmurs. “Work things. Patrik things.”

“Ah, so the usual?”

Sami huffs out a laugh. “Pate is not always easy to work with.”

“Let’s stop talking about work, then,” Ben says, fingers digging into a knot of tension at the top of Sami’s spine. “How about we skip picking the movie and go straight to getting your mind off whatever’s stressing you out?”

Warmth blooms under Sami’s skin, and he can’t fight his shy smile. “I think that plan is perfect.”

And it is; Ben takes his hand and leads him to the bedroom, gently pressing him up against every wall on the way there and kissing him until he’s breathless. When they finally make it Ben presses him down onto the bed, too, and takes him apart with his mouth and his hands until Sami’s shaking and sighing and arching into every touch, arms thrown over his face. He comes whining before Ben’s even gotten undressed.

Then Ben gives him a predatory smile and crawls up his body, and Sami stops thinking entirely pretty soon after that.

* * *

Trailing Niku—Patrik’s shadow—is a lot more difficult than Nikolaj thought it’d be. Not even because he’s hard to keep track of, Nikolaj’s always been good at that part. It’s because he spends so much fucking time with _Patrik_. Riding shotgun in his car, trailing one step behind him wherever they go, eyes sharp while Patrik marches around like he’s completely indestructible. And Patrik will turn to him, with a grin or something more serious, and they’ll have quiet conversations with their heads pressed together.

Patrik _trusts_ Niku. Nikolaj knew that, because Patrik told him, but actually seeing it makes his stomach hurt, makes guilt sit heavy in his chest. Relationships that aren’t ultimately expendable are rare, in their business.

Doesn’t mean he’s not gonna make the hit. Dad gave him an order; he’s gonna follow it.

When Niku’s not with Patrik, he doesn’t do much. He seems to have a boyfriend, tall and brown-haired with a too-charming smile, and they spend a lot of time either at his apartment or one of the bars owned by the Finns. Nikolaj briefly entertains the idea of using the boyfriend to get to him—Niku seems completely smitten—but he dismisses it just as quickly. The job’s to take out Niku, not any other extra bullshit. Complications just make things more, uh, complicated.

Getting Niku while he’s at home is probably Nikolaj’s best bet. He’s got security, but nothing Nikolaj can’t handle, and he lives completely alone with pretty much no visitors. Probably has good soundproofing too.

Now Nikolaj just has to pick a time and do it.

He knows, whatever’s going on between him and Patrik—it’s not lasting beyond this hit. Patrik won’t want anything to do with him. Might even try to kill him, if he’s pissed enough.

And that’s—that’s fine. Nikolaj knew it was coming anyway. He’s an Ehlers, Patrik’s the heir to the Finn’s empire. They weren’t gonna make it past a year. This thing between them was always gonna end violent and bloody.

But when he sees Patrik pull out his phone at the end of a night with Niku and tap something out with an impassive look, and seconds later Nikolaj’s phone buzzes against his thigh, he barely even considers turning Patrik down. It’d be the smarter option, fading away so it doesn’t hurt as much when things end.

He responds to Patrik’s text with a simple thumbs up, and waits until Patrik and Niku have gotten into the car and disappeared before revving up his motorcycle and screeching off down the street.

Patrik’s meeting spot this time is a mostly-empty underground parking garage. Nikolaj’s already got a squirmy, shivery feeling in his spine when he rides in and sees Patrik, leaning up against his car. A grin curls over Patrik’s face, eyebrows raising, eyes dragging over Nikolaj’s entire body as he slowly rides closer. Nikolaj pulls the bike to a stop, kicks down the kickstand, and swings his leg over with Patrik’s eyes on him the entire time.

“You look good on that,” Patrik murmurs, hands immediately finding Nikolaj’s hips as soon as he’s close enough. “You should ride me like that.”

Nikolaj smirks and presses against Patrik’s body, fingers curling around his shoulders. “Maybe.”

They end up sprawled in the back seat of Patrik’s car, Nikolaj’s legs cramping where they’re folded on either side of Patrik’s waist. He bites a mark just under Patrik’s jaw and rolls down his hips, breaking a moan against Patrik’s skin. Patrik’s hands feel huge and warm, tucked up under his shirt and wrapped around his waist.

Patrik digs his fingers in and drags Nikolaj’s hips down against his dick again, grinding up against his ass. “I should bend you over your bike someday,” he says quietly, breathlessly. “See if you can keep your balance.”

Nikolaj kisses him to shut him up. He bites at Patrik’s mouth, too, until Patrik takes control of the kiss and turns Nikolaj’s frustrated noises into a long, high whine in the back of his throat.

His phone buzzes insistently against his leg.

Nikolaj tries ignoring it, grinding down and gasping against Patrik’s mouth. But the buzzing continues, vibrating over his thigh, aggravating against his oversensitive skin. It keeps clearing away the head fog he’s trying to fall into.

“Sorry,” he says eventually, kissing the corner of Patrik’s mouth, then his cheek. He sits up, trying to ignore Patrik’s narrowed eyes and the way his grip has tightened as he checks his phone. It’s his dad. “Sorry, I’ve gotta take this, it’s—important.”

“Nik,” Patrik says, his voice almost a warning. Nikolaj shivers. “You’re with me right now.”

Despite Patrik’s iron grip on his waist, Nikolaj manages to awkwardly push off and climb out of the car. “Sorry,” he says again, wincing at the repetition. “I’ve gotta.”

His legs are a little unsteady when he steps out and backs up. Resolutely ignoring Patrik’s glare, he accepts the call and brings the phone to his ear, not at all surprised when Dad asks, “is it done yet?” without even waiting for a hello. He’s talking in Danish, at least, so there’s no chance of Patrik eavesdropping.

Nikolaj shakes his head. “Not yet.” Fuck, he _really_ doesn’t wanna be talking about this with Patrik a couple metres away.

Dad’s silent over the phone. “Why not?”

“He’s always with—” Shit, probably shouldn’t say Patrik’s name when he’s right there to hear it. That’s the same in every language. “The heir. It’s hard getting him alone.”

“Do it quickly.” Nikolaj can hear the frown in his voice. “Suspicions are only getting worse, and I don’t want to get this to a point where more dire action is needed.” His tone is threatening, and Nikolaj steals a glance in Patrik’s direction. More dire action. He doesn’t really need to guess what _that_ might be. “Find your moment and take it, Nikolaj. Sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah. I’ll do it soon.”

There’s a click, then silence on the other end. Nikolaj brings his phone down, staring at the _call over_ screen, knuckles white where they’re curled around the phone.

“You done yet?” Nikolaj glances over to see Patrik’s sitting up, long legs spread as they sprawl out the open door. His eyes are sharp, boring a hole into Nikolaj’s skull. “We’re busy.” He spreads his legs a little, deliberately glancing down at the ground between them. When his eyes drag back up to Nikolaj’s face, there’s a promise in there that makes Nikolaj’s skin tingle. “I think you need to make it up to me.”

Part of Nikolaj is so fucking tempted to just fall to his knees on the cement between Patrik’s legs and suck his dick until his head’s blank. The rest of him keeps seeing the way Patrik always grins at Niku, like they’re sharing a joke only Patrik finds funny.

“I have to leave,” Nikolaj hears himself saying, distant like he’s underwater.

Patrik’s brows shoot up. “Now?”

Nikolaj nods. “Yeah.”

“You’re avoiding me,” Patrik says point-blank, and Nikolaj’s heart stutters. “Why do you keep cancelling? Why don’t you come to my place anymore?”

Those questions aren’t supposed to cut all the way down to the bone. Nikolaj swallows, jaw tense, barely breathing. His body feels like it’s curling in on himself, and he wants to come up with some clever answer, but his brain’s buzzing with the weight of Patrik’s gaze. He should be better at this—he _is_ better at this.

Slowly, Patrik stands up and approaches. “Niky?” His hand finds Nikolaj’s wrist, curls around it loosely. “What’s up with you?”

Finally, Nikolaj finds his charm. He flashes Patrik an easy smile, tucking his phone back in his pocket and turning to face him. “Family business,” he says, looping an arm around Patrik’s neck. “Next time, okay? I’ll make it up to you next time.” He drags Patrik down into a slow, sloppy kiss before Patrik can ask any more questions.

“Okay,” Patrik says, once they’ve broken apart and they’re both breathing hard. “See you. I’ll text you.”

Nikolaj climbs on his bike, and feels Patrik’s gaze until he’s out of the parking garage.

After that, he tells himself he won’t go and see Patrik anymore. He’ll follow Niku around, come up with a game plan, and then all this’ll be behind him. 

Half a week later Patrik’s got him backed up against the mirrored wall of his building’s elevator. He’s pulled Nikolaj’s shirt collar down to suck a mark just below his collarbone, his thigh shoved between Nikolaj’s to give him something to grind against. It’s filthy, and _stupid_—literally anyone could walk in, it’s not a private elevator—but Nikolaj arches into it and gasps when Patrik’s teeth graze his skin.

“You owe me,” Patrik murmurs. He grabs Nikolaj’s wrist as the elevator dings and the door slides open, revealing the ultramodern design of Patrik’s apartment. “You have to make it up to me for last time.” Nikolaj fights it a little, as Patrik drags him further into the apartment, in the direction of the bedroom. 

Right. He _did_ promise that.

But Nikolaj’s chest feels like it’s buzzing, like there’s a swarm of something whirling around behind his ribcage. He doesn’t want to be good, the way Patrik probably wants right now. He doesn’t want to go easy.

Fuck, he shouldn’t have come here. Patrik shouldn’t be grinning at him like that, wicked and a little fond.

Nikolaj rips his wrist out of Patrik’s grasp. “I’m not doing shit for you,” he snaps, anger biting at the back of his throat.

Patrik stares at him a second. His eyes narrow. “Nik,” he says, almost threatening, and he reaches for Nikolaj’s arm. It’d be so easy, to melt against him, let him do whatever the fuck he wanted. Nikolaj’s chest hurts. He doesn’t _want_ easy. Easy would just make that persistent, heavy weight in the pit of his gut even worse.

Before Patrik can grab him, Nikolaj gets both hands on his chest and shoves. Patrik’s eyes widen, and he must actually be surprised because he stumbles back half a step. “You heard me,” Nikolaj snarls. He’s already breathing hard, heart pounding in his ears. 

He’s expecting Patrik to get pissed. Shove him against a wall, force him onto his knees. Patrik likes that kind of game, where he gets to be rough. Nikolaj _wants_ that.

But Patrik’s eyes go sharp, and he stares at Nikolaj so long it burrows under his skin. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Does it matter?” Nikolaj lifts his chin, challenging. He doesn’t miss the way Patrik’s eyes flash. _Good_. “What are you gonna do about it?”

For a long few seconds, Patrik just stares at him. Nikolaj waits, adrenaline buzzing through his body, glaring at Patrik and _daring_ him to do something. Get violent, rough him up, push him around so his chest doesn’t feel like it’s crushing in on itself—

“I think you should leave,” Patrik says slowly.

The pressure in his chest sharpens. “_What_?”

“I think you should go,” Patrik repeats. “Whatever game you’re playing, I don’t want it. Not when you’re . . .” He makes a face and gestures vaguely at Nikolaj’s entire body, tensed up and ready for a fight. “Like this. I don’t think it would end well.”

Almost without thinking, Nikolaj shakes his head. “I—“ His words get caught in his suddenly dry throat. All the anger suddenly bleeds out, and he’s bone-deep exhausted. “I wanna stay.”

Patrik smiles, crooked and almost sweet. “Yeah?”

No. No, he should fucking leave, off Niku, and never come back here again. Then it’d be over, and he won’t have to deal with this nausea, creeping up the back of his throat. 

Nikolaj nods. “Yeah.”

Patrik’s smile widens. “Good.” He approaches, big hands coming up to frame Nikolaj’s jaw, and this time Nikolaj doesn’t try fighting him off. He just leans into it, letting Patrik tip his face up and kiss him. The kiss is soft and open-mouthed, and suddenly Nikolaj’s aware that he’s trembling. His hands find Patrik’s waist almost instinctively, curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer so his warmth bleeds into Nikolaj’s skin. 

His chest aches. His legs feel wobbly. All he can think about is Patrik’s mouth soft and warm on his, so he doesn’t have to think about anything _else_.

Then Patrik hands drop and he tries pulling away, and Nikolaj makes a fucking _humiliating_ sound and tugs him back in. He drops his forehead against Patrik’s shoulder, breathing hard, heart pounding like he’s just been in a gunfight. His face burns, embarrassment whirling in his belly, but he can’t make his fucking fingers uncurl where they’re wrinkling Patrik’s shirt. It’s like if Patrik moves away right now, he’ll shatter.

Patrik’s hands find his waist. His hands are huge, spreading warmth over Nikolaj’s skin, soothing as they sweep up his back. “Woah, Niky,” he says softly. “What’s wrong?”

“Fuck,” Nikolaj grinds out. “I’m sorry. I’m not—_fuck_.” He takes a deep breath, loosens his grip. Then he leans back to meet Patrik’s eyes. “It’s nothing.”

He’s not sure what’s going on in his eyes right now, but Patrik’s entire expression goes soft and . . . almost concerned. Fuck, that makes it even worse. “What’s going on with you?” 

Nikolaj shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

Stupidly, dangerously, Patrik knows him well enough to know he’s lying. “What is it?” His thumbs rub soothing circles over Nikolaj’s hips. “Let me help you.”

Nikolaj curls his fingers even tighter in Patrik’s shirt, and says nothing.

Maybe since the first time they started this, they don’t end up fucking. They play video games and Patrik falls asleep sprawled out on his couch, one leg hanging off the side. Nikolaj watches the slow rise and fall of his chest for a few minutes, trying and failing to match his breathing.

Then he gets up, and leaves Patrik’s apartment knowing he’s never coming back. He can’t do this anymore. Something’s gotta give, and it’s not gonna be his family loyalty.

* * *

If there’s one thing Sami has learned from a lifetime of watching Patrik’s back, paying attention to every detail in his surroundings, it’s that there’s no such thing as paranoia. When it seems like someone has it out for you, trusting those instincts is usually the difference between keeping your life or not. And Sami _knows_, at this point. Someone is watching him, following him, and he still hasn’t managed to catch even a _glimpse_.

That’s the problem, of course. As long as he’s so in the dark, there’s nothing he can do.

He’s returning home from a long night with Patrik going around and intimidating businessmen, standing quiet and impassive in the corner while Patrik danced on the line between charming and dangerous. It’s a role Sami knows how to play well. Equal parts Patrik’s defense, and the one there to rein him in. Sometimes the men they’re talking to look to _him_ for solidarity, and Sami’s pretty good at wordlessly conveying what they need to see: _I can only do so much, you want to listen to what he says_.

Now he’s exhausted. He doesn’t feel the creeping feeling of someone watching him, at least, but his body and brain are about to drop. They had to go a bit overboard with one guy who turned out to be trying to pull one over on them, and—

Well, beating someone half to death takes a lot out of a person.

Absently, Sami rubs his thumb over his bruised knuckles as he walks up the steps to his apartment building. It’s almost strange, not feeling like there’s someone watching him. Almost more unsettling than actually _being_ watched.

Maybe that’s because he’s been so tense for so long, but . . .

The lobby is calm when he steps inside. Sami nods at the receptionist, offering a tiny smile. He takes the elevator—his legs are wobbly from the long night, and the stairwell is too narrow and too dark, too many blindspots. As the elevator glides smoothly upward a headache starts pounding in Sami’s head, making his lips turn and his brows knot together.

This is getting ridiculous. He needs to relax. He’ll have a bubble bath and some wine, light some of those candles Pinja gifted him.

Maybe he’ll even send Ben a picture. Sami’s face flushes at the thought, and he nervously tucks his hair behind his ears.

The warmth in his belly lasts until he unlocks his apartment door. Then it fizzles out immediately, replaced by clenching discomfort and a prickle on the back of his neck. Something’s wrong. Something’s _very_ wrong.

It isn’t even any one thing. Nothing is out of place, necessarily, there’s no sign of forced entry or anyone in his apartment. But Sami can feel it crawling under his skin; he’s in danger.

Gently, he closes the door behind him and pulls his gun from its holster. It’s a familiar weight in his hand, and that at least gives him some comfort. He may not be as good a shot as Patrik—_nobody_ is as good a shot as Patrik—but he’s been doing this long enough to trust how quickly he can react.

He takes a step further into the apartment. It’s quiet and dark, just as he left it. His mail is still stacked neatly on the kitchen counter, most of his blinds drawn. It’s a fairly small place, but Sami likes it that way. It’s cozy, and much more difficult for intruders to find hiding places in.

The apartment is completely silent. Sami walks further in, hands stiff and ready on his gun, head cocked to listen for any sounds. 

A tiny sound catches his attention and he immediately turns, gun swinging in the direction of whatever made the sound—but his gun’s only halfway up when a body crashes into his. They go sprawling to the floor, twisting halfway down. Sami’s back hits the ground hard and he’s still gasping for breath when he gets a leg up and rolls, throwing his attacker off and further down the hall.

Sami barely takes a second to look at his assailant—he’s wearing a dark suit and his features are shadowed in the dark apartment—before pushing up onto his elbow and trying to take aim again. 

But the other man is faster. He launches himself at Sami again, getting on top and forcing his arm to the floor just as he’s squeezing the trigger. It fires uselessly down the hallway—then there’s a hand twisting his wrist, forcing the gun out of his grip and across the floor.

Sami tries to shove up, jabbing at the other man’s face, at his ribcage, anywhere he can reach. A knee pins his other arm, the other pressing to his throat, cutting off his air—

His attacker is the younger Ehlers son. Patrik’s _boyfriend_. 

Sami gasps for air, feet scrabbling on the hardwood floors as the pressure on his throat increases, black spots clouding the edges of his vision. Ehlers wrestles with him to keep him down, grappling for something strapped to his own thigh. Panic rises in Sami’s chest like bile, he’s starting to lose consciousness, something sharp’s glinting in Ehlers’ hand.

Then air floods into his lungs as an arm wraps around Ehlers’ throat and hauls him up onto his feet. Sami heaves, blinking away the fuzziness in his eyes to see Ehlers’ clawing at Patrik’s arm, eyes rolling back into his head. After five seconds his pawing gets sloppy, and after ten seconds he’s going limp in Patrik’s grip.

Patrik lowers his half-conscious body almost gently to the ground. Then he gives Ehlers a rabbit-punch to the side of the jaw, and Ehlers’ eyes snap shut and his head thunks against the hardwood floor.

Coughing, rubbing at his throat, Sami sits up a little. He watches wide-eyed as Patrik checks Ehlers’ pulse, eyes falling shut and an almost relieved expression passing over his face.

Oh, Patrik. Sami really, _really_ hates being right, in this case and this case only.

Patrik’s eyes flick up to him, bright and a little wild. “You okay?”

Sami rubs at his Adam’s apple and nods. “Yes,” he manages, his voice cracking. “I will be, at least. He didn’t crush anything.” Patrik nods, glancing down at Ehlers’ unconscious body again, and Sami’s tongue buzzes with questions. “How did you know to come here?”

“I’ve known someone was tailing us for a few days,” Patrik says. He’s still half-knelt next to Ehlers, hand spread over the nape of his neck. Sami isn’t going to be the one to point out how gentle his grip is. “At first I thought, y’know, they were following me, but then I realized it was _you_. So I followed you home. Good thing I did, yeah?”

Sami nods. He almost doesn’t want to ask the next question. “What are you going to do now?”

Patrik swallows. His eyes don’t leave Ehlers’ face. “I haven’t decided that part yet.” Finally he glances at Sami. “Can you get me something to tie him up with? I don’t wanna—” He frowns. “I’m not gonna do this here.”

After a few more deep breaths Sami climbs to his feet and heads off in the direction of his ‘supply’ closet to grab Patrik some rope and some duct tape. Then he sequesters himself off in his bedroom, door ajar, and calls Ben.

Ben picks up after four rings. “Hey, beautiful,” he says, dripping with charm, and some of the tension eases out of Sami’s shoulders. “I’m at work, so I can’t talk too long. What’s up?”

Sami bites his lower lip. “Can you . . . can you come over?” He rubs his fingers over his throat. “I will cover you, with work, but I just. I need you here right now.”

“Sami?” Ben’s voice has dipped into concern. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Please,” Sami murmurs. “Just come?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Ben promises, and hangs up.

Sami hardly notices when Patrik leaves, carrying an unconscious Ehlers out the door newlywed style. His heart aches at the sight, a cheap mockery of something actually sweet. He knows how much Ehlers meant to him. That was probably Patrik’s first real love; he deserves more from that than a betrayal.

But there isn’t much Sami can do about it now. He brews himself a cup of tea with honey, sipping slowly to soothe the burn in his throat. Then he waits for Ben to show up, his gun sitting loaded on the coffee table in front of him, ready to be fired. He trusts that Patrik will take care of Ehlers, but—well, there could be more. Unlikely, considering Sami is only a shadow, but he isn’t going to bet his life on _that_.

A soft knock on the door nearly makes Sami jump, hand skittering towards his gun. But seconds later, he hears the door click open and Ben’s voice ring out into the apartment, “Sami? You in here?”

“_Kyllä_,” Sami says, his voice still a bit rough. “In here.”

Ben walks into the room with his eyebrows raised, eyes dark. “Why are all the lights off?”

Oh. Sami shrugs. “I forget to turn them on.” He raises the mug to his lips again, gaze shuttering down to the floor. “Thank you. For coming here, even if you were working.” He feels a bit guilty about it, dragging Ben away from work without even telling him _why_, but he needed someone else in the apartment right now. Needed _Ben_ in the apartment right now.

Maybe Ben knows this, because he takes a seat next to Sami on the couch and puts his hand on Sami’s knee. “You okay?” His eyes are big, searching, roving over Sami’s face like he’ll be able to read exactly what happened. “You sounded terrified over the phone, what happened?” His head tips to one side, hair flopping over his forehead, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Do I need to kill someone?” It’s said teasingly, but Sami’s sure he _would_, if asked.

The thought makes his heart thump in his chest. “No, it’s fine,” he says simply. “Pate is doing it. Or—he’s dealing with it?” Truthfully, he can’t answer whether Patrik is going to kill Ehlers or not. He knows Patrik well, but he’s never seen Patrik heartbroken. “I just wanted you with me.”

Ben’s smile softens. “I can do that,” he says softly, shuffling closer, arranging Sami’s legs to stretch across his lap. He reaches up to play with a strand of Sami’s hair, fingertips brushing across his cheek, his lips, his jaw. “So what happened?”

“Pate’s boyfriend,” Sami says, frowning into the dregs of his tea. “He tried to kill me.”

Ben’s fingers still. “He _what_?”

Sami shrugs. “It’s okay. Pate came and stopped him.”

Gently, Ben takes him by the chin and tilts his head up, exposing the bruising on his throat. It’ll be worse tomorrow. Something dangerous flashes in Ben’s eyes, mouth pressing into a thin line. “Patrik’s boyfriend did this to you?” His tone is hard, making something clench at the base of Sami’s spine.

Sami hears the question within a question. “His boyfriend is—was—Nikolaj Ehlers.”

“Jesus.” Finally Ben’s hand moves into his hair, nails dragging gently along his scalp. Sami’s eyes flutter shut and he leans into it, biting his lip to muffle his tiny noise of pleasure. “How are you doing? Like, really?”

“Tired, mostly,” Sami says truthfully. He rubs against Ben’s hand like a cat. “Keep doing that, please.”

Ben hums. He scratches Sami’s scalp, runs his fingers through Sami’s messy hair. “You’re gonna come live with me for a little while,” he says decisively, and Sami’s eyes snap open.

“What?” Warmth flushes up under his skin. “Why?”

“Because I want you where I can see you.” Ben’s resolute expression softens, his eyes crinkled and warm. “I’ll feel a lot better about your safety if you’re near me. I don’t want to—” He frowns, and shakes his head. “I _can’t_ think about you staying here, all alone, with nobody to watch out for you. Not after this.”

“Oh.” Sami can’t keep himself from smiling. “Okay. I think I would like that.” He drops his head against Ben’s hand and opens his eyes, looking up through his lashes at the open expression on Ben’s face. “I was going to have a bubble bath, if you want to join . . . ?”

A gorgeous grin spreads across Ben’s face. “Oh, sweetheart,” he laughs, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

* * *

Nikolaj gains awareness slowly. The first thing he notices is that his head’s in fucking _agony_, the ache pounding with every heartbeat. Then the ringing in his ears, like someone’s fired a gun off right next to his head. Pulling his thoughts together any more than that takes a second. Nikolaj’s almost certain he’s got a concussion.

He starts noticing things outside his head next. His cheek’s pressed against leather, and there’s a humming against him that’s vibrating through his entire body. The quiet noise of an engine pours into his ear. He’s in the backseat of a car?

Lights make him wince when he opens his eyes, flooding his vision with bright spots and blinding him for a second. Nikolaj blinks it away, and sees Patrik sitting behind the wheel and the night lights of the city through the window beyond him.

Everything comes flooding back. Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck_.

_Patrik_, Nikolaj tries to say, but it comes out muffled. He tries moving his mouth, feels the sting of tape keeping it shut. A bit more wriggling tells him he’s tied up, ankles and wrists, arms caught behind his back. Fuck, okay. Okay.

Shit.

He tries making another noise, to get Patrik’s attention. Patrik doesn’t even look at him. Nikolaj can’t see him in the rearview but he can see a quarter of his profile; his face is all hard angles and a clenched jaw, eyes locked on the road.

Panic burrows deep in Nikolaj’s chest and takes hold.

He squirms a bit, trying to get his arm under him so he can sit up. But Patrik—without saying anything, without looking—pulls out a gun and points it right at Nikolaj’s face. Nikolaj stares at it, almost cross-eyed, heart in his throat. It’s . . . not like the other times Patrik’s had a loaded gun on him. This time it’s real.

He stops trying to sit up, and Patrik’s arm retreats.

They drive for a while longer. Nikolaj tries making sense of where they’re going, looking for landmarks out the window, but all the lights are bleeding together and making his head pound. Yeah, definitely a concussion.

When Patrik finally pulls the car to a stop, Nikolaj keeps himself still. His body’s gone into autopilot, head running through scenarios, looking for the best way to survive this situation. So far, playing nice and not aggravating Patrik’s the best he’s got.

Patrik swings the door open and Nikolaj flinches despite himself. He doesn’t move, even when Patrik’s nimble fingers have undone the ropes around his ankles. Patrik’s the one with the gun. Nikolaj’s not in a position to try any tricks.

“Up,” Patrik says, short and clipped. He steps back and lets Nikolaj struggle to sit up, barely waiting until Nikolaj’s upright before grabbing him by the arm and hauling him to his feet.

Nikolaj winces, but says nothing. Instead he takes a look around; they’re at the docks just off the boardwalk, the waterway calm and almost black. Nobody’s around.

His panic flares. This is the kind of place Finns bring people to _disappear_.

Patrik drags him right over to the edge of the stone docks, maybe a metre away from the water. He shoves Nikolaj down, gets his back up against a concrete fencepost. His eyes are bright and clear as he stares at Nikolaj, barely even angry, and Nikolaj stares helplessly back.

He gasps when Patrik rips the duct tape off. “Patty—“

“Shut up.” Patrik stands. He’s huge right now, tall and intimidating in a pressed black suit, glaring down. Nikolaj feels his own eyes go wide when Patrik pulls out his gun again, pressing the barrel of the silencer right against Nikolaj’s forehead. “Convince me not to do this.”

Fuck. Nikolaj stares up at him, looking for anything in his eyes—sadness, regret, even _anger_—but Patrik’s not giving him anything.

“I love you,” he blurts, and that’s not even survival instincts. “I love you, Patty, please—“ His breath catches.

Nikolaj’s pretty sure that’s the first time he’s said it. Not very convincing, in the current situation. From Patrik’s blank expression he doesn’t think so either.

_C’mon_, Nikolaj tells himself, swallowing past the lump in his throat. _Don’t die here. There’s a way out of this_.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and that’s not what he meant to fucking say at all. Nobody _apologizes_ for making a hit. Trying to make a hit, in this case. Nikolaj opens his mouth, gearing up the charm to try and strike a deal, or something, anything to get that gun pointed somewhere else. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—“

The lump in his throat gets too big to swallow around, and Nikolaj realizes with horror his eyes are burning. What the fuck—what the _fuck_, he isn’t this fucking soft. 

Nikolaj’s breath hitches on a weird half-sob, lashes clinging together. His head hurts, his chest feels like it’s about to cave in, he just wants to cover his face but his arms are bound, and—and he feels like when he was a fucking child, breaking down during a mock-kidnapping. He just can’t _deal_ with the way Patrik’s looking at him. Like he doesn’t even care.

When he manages to glance up at Patrik his vision’s a little blurred. Not enough that he can’t see Patrik’s eyes widen. “You—“ Patrik blinks, shakes his head, keeps staring. “Are you _crying_?”

“_Fuck you_,” Nikolaj hisses, which—great fucking idea, saying that to the guy with a gun on him.

Patrik looks like he has about as much idea of what to do in this situation as Nikolaj does. “_Why_?”

Nikolaj glares at him. “I don’t fucking know!” He slams his head back against the concrete post in frustration and a sharp pain shoots through his skull. Great, now his concussion is gonna be even worse. “I’m fucking exhausted, Patrik, I don’t know what to do anymore, I just—“ He heaves in a breath, and his next words come out quieter. “I don’t know what to do.”

Even just saying it is exhausting.

“Explain,” Patrik says. His voice is even, but there’s something a little strangled hidden behind it.

Nikolaj lets out a long, slow breath. “My family found out.” Patrik’s brows shoot up. “Not about you, but—they caught me going into your territory all the time, and they thought I might be getting friendly with one of yours.” He shrugs. “Dad said I had to make a show of loyalty, take out someone high-profile but not—“ _Not important_, he almost says, but he doesn’t think Patrik would appreciate it. “Not someone you guys would start a war over.”

Patrik keeps staring. He still has the gun pointed at Nikolaj’s head. “Sami.”

“Yeah.” Nikolaj swallows. “I didn’t want to kill him. I just. Didn’t know what else to do.”

Silence stretches between them, and all Nikolaj hears is his own heartbeat and the gentle lapping of water against the concrete walls of the watercourse. Fuck, he’s so tired.

“Now what?” he asks, gazing up past Patrik’s gun. “Are you gonna shoot me?”

Patrik furrows his brow. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I dunno.” It’s like everything has drained out. Now Nikolaj just wants to sleep, but that might be the concussion talking. “Shoot me, probably.”

He doesn’t miss the way Patrik’s mouth twists. He’s too tired for that to feel like a victory. “I—“ Patrik stops, closes his mouth, stares down at Nikolaj. He’s so tall right now, big and broad and larger than life, silhouetted by the boardwalk lights behind him. Or maybe Nikolaj’s just getting delirious. “Did you mean it?”

Nikolaj’s skull is starting to throb. At least he’s stopped crying. “Did I mean what?”

Patrik scowls. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know, I have a fucking concussion.”

“You said you love me,” Patrik snaps, clearly annoyed. “Did you mean it?”

Oh. “Yeah.” The word comes out thick. “Sorry.”

Patrik’s eyes go wide again. “Why are you apologizing?”

Nikolaj shrugs, as much as he can with his arms bound behind him. “Because I know it probably doesn’t make this any easier.” He glances at the gun. “You shooting me, I mean.” Why he isn’t still trying to convince Patrik not to do it, he doesn’t know. His head hurts too much to think that far.

A second passes. Patrik stares at him. He huffs out a frustrated growl, and tucks his gun back into his coat. “This is so stupid.” Then he sits his ass down, cross-legged, an arm’s length away from Nikolaj. “Niky, tell me what the fuck I’m doing?”

Nikolaj shrugs. “You think I know?”

Patrik frowns. “One of us should.” He cocks his head to one side, gazing at Nikolaj so honestly it hurts. “I don’t want to shoot you.”

“I don’t want to get shot.” Nikolaj stretches his leg out, poking Patrik in the knee. “Now what?”

Patrik looks at him for a second, considering. Then he leans closer, bracing on hand on the fencepost above Nikolaj’s head, the other curling around his jaw to gently tip his chin up. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding young, and kisses Nikolaj on the mouth.

It’s not a gentle kiss, but it’s not really rough either. Just—intense, making Nikolaj’s head swim even more.

When Patrik pulls back Nikolaj chases him, leaning forward an inch before he manages to stop himself. He opens his eyes to see Patrik watching him, eyes still big and almost awed, face just inches away. “Okay,” Patrik says, sitting back, sounding like he’s talking to himself more than Nikolaj. “I can’t kill you. I don’t want to kill you.”

Nikolaj nods, wincing when it makes his head throb. 

“We’re gonna have some issues, then,” he says, breathing in and trying to clear his head, eyes briefly squeezing shut to try and piece his mind together. None of his thoughts are really cooperating right now. “My people are still expecting me to hit Niku, or—or at least somehow prove I’m not, uh, buddy-buddy with you guys.”

The hint of a smile tugs at Patrik’s crooked mouth. “Even though you are?”

Nikolaj glares up at Patrik through his lashes. “The rest of your people can eat shit.” Even glaring hurts a little too much, though, so he drops his gaze to the ground between them. “Seriously, though. If I don’t kill Niku—“ Well, he doesn’t really wanna think about that possibility. “It’ll be trouble.”

Patrik nods. “You need to prove your loyalty, right? By killing Sami?” He leans forward. “What if you tried and failed?”

“What do you mean?”

“Sami goes dark for a little while,” Patrik says confidently. “I play like I’m worried about him. Maybe I get a temporary bodyguard while he’s injured.” His eyes flick up Nikolaj’s body. “You go home, you say you almost did it but I caught you.” A crooked grin unfurls across his face. “You can tell them all how dangerous I am.”

“Shut up,” Nikolaj snaps. “Or, wait, that’s kind of a good plan. Better than I thought you could come up with.”

Patrik scoffs. “I’m smart. And at least I _tried_ coming up with a plan.”

Fair point. Still. “My guys might buy it,” Nikolaj says, rolling his aching shoulders a little, “but my dad won’t. Not without actual proof.” 

Patrik’s quiet. He’s staring at nothing, brows furrowed. Obviously trying to come up with something. Nikolaj just watches him, his brain too scattered to try and scrape together some kind of solution. Finally Patrik breaks the silence. “Okay,” he says, nodding. Then he stands, and his hands go to his belt.

The back of Nikolaj’s neck heats. “Uh.”

Laughter sparkles in Patrik’s eyes. “Easy,” he drawls, tugging his belt free from his pants. He drops it unceremoniously in Nikolaj’s lap, then moves around and finally crouches to untie the rope. Blood prickles in Nikolaj’s fingertips as he brings his arms in front of him, rubbing at the skin around his wrists. “So, which leg?”

Patrik’s back in front of him. Nikolaj looks up at him. “Huh?”

His gut clenches when Patrik pulls out his gun again. “I’m gonna shoot you,” Patrik says, almost apologetic about it. He gestures at Nikolaj’s thighs, sprawled out in front of him. “So it looks more real. Which leg?”

_Oh_. Nikolaj shrugs. “Your pick?”

Patrik crouches down, leaning in to kiss Nikolaj again, soft but insistent. He nips at Nikolaj’s lip when he pulls back, grinning when Nikolaj sways forward with him. The grin stays as he folds his discarded belt in half and slides it between Nikolaj’s teeth—something to bite down on, which makes a lot more sense than anything else that was going through Nikolaj’s mind when he saw Patrik removing it. In his defense, well, concussion.

Then Patrik stands again, carefully taking aim. “Ready?”

Nikolaj nods.

The suppressed shot echoes over the boardwalk and Nikolaj shouts a muffled curse into the leather of Patrik’s belt, pain shooting up his leg. It’s just a graze, at least, on the outside of his left thigh, but it still fucking _hurts_. He rips the belt out of his mouth, hunched over and panting. Wet warmth spreads over his thigh. He presses a hand against it, wincing at the sting.

Patrik kneels next to him. “Sorry, baby,” he whispers, pushing his hands over Nikolaj’s. “You okay?”

Nikolaj drags in a shaky breath. “S’not too bad. I’ve had worse.”

Patrik leans in close, kissing Nikolaj’s temple. “Can you get home okay?”

Fuck, he’s probably gonna have to call Kyle once he’s close enough to the Finnish territory border. _That’s_ gonna be a fun car ride. “I’ll be fine,” he says, tucking his face against Patrik’s neck. He smells like sweat and the last hint of cologne, and the scent settles over Nikolaj’s tensed up shoulders like a blanket. “Um, Patty—”

Patrik leans back, eyes wide. “What’s wrong?”

“I love you.” Heat climbs up his cheeks. “Figured I should say it, y’know, without a gun pointed at me.”

Patrik kisses him again. This time it lingers, and a shiver runs down Nikolaj’s spine when Patrik presses him back against the fencepost a little more urgently. He could stay here forever, despite the ache in his head and the stinging pain in his thigh and the way his ass is going numb on the concrete. As long as Patrik’s right here with him, kissing him breathless.

“We’ll have to be more secret,” Patrik says when he pulls back. His hands are still covering Nikolaj’s, big and warm. “More careful. No more meetings unless we can really afford to sneak off.” 

Nikolaj manages a grin that might look a little more delirious than dazzling. “I’m gonna be in Germany in a month. Think you can come up with an excuse to join me?”

Patrik’s eyes flash, and he smiles wide and crooked. “I bet I have business in Germany.”

**Author's Note:**

> i fucking _love_ this 'verse thank you and goodnight!!!!
> 
> [tumblr](http://soft-eldritch.tumblr.com/) // [twitter](http://twitter.com/softeldritch)


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